Archive for September, 2008

I’ve been rearranging my rapidly growing book collection. I’ve been tossing out things so old I can just no longer read them, making lists of books to buy, and, my favorite, creating a pile of books to donate. And I ran across some of my diaries from middle and high school.

As I am wont to do, I managed to get completely sidetracked. I began to flip through what was my FAVORITE diary at the time (a really cool Lisa Frank number with polar bears on it) and started to read. This diary was from high school, started right when I moved to Florida and I was just MISERABLE, y’all. I had no idea that I had an accent (and we’re talking full-on Southern lilt, y’all) and the kids just jumped all over it. Nelly’s Country Grammar was in heavy rotation on the airwaves, and for the first few months I was there, Country Grammar, or, perhaps even more affectionately, “Big Country”, was my nickname.

Charming, ain’t it?

Well, I continued to read, and I ran across an entry I must have written when I was having just an AWFUL day, because at the end of the entry, I’d written a prayer of sorts:

God, if you love me, why don’t you just take away this accent, and make me skinny? I’m tired of being picked on, I’m tired of people making jokes that aren’t funny. God, please, make me normal.

Sophomore year was a booger, folks.

Well, I closed that diary and picked up a smaller white striped one with hearts. I remembered that diary as one I bought during the Scholastic Book Fair (remember those?) This one was from my last year of elementary school (6th grade for me) through freshman year of high school. I realized the FashionableNerd in the Lisa Frank diary was slightly less miserable than the FashionableNerd in the Scholastic diary. Oh, I chatted about my teachers and my friends, I wrote countless entries on the various diets I tried and how my family members tried to bribe me into losing weight, but the connective tissue was the plea for somebody, anybody, to make me NORMAL.

What strikes me about my diaries is that I just don’t remember being so sad. Oh, I might mention to friends, as we spoke of our childhoods, about being unhappy with my body, but I never went into depth about the hurt I was obviously experiencing as a child. Perhaps, with the blinders that hindsight can place on one’s eyes, I simply rewrote history a bit. I tweaked it to make it sound like I’d never been picked on, harassed, or ridiculed. Maybe I wanted folks to think the strong, no-nonsense persona I developed in college had always been there. Maybe I just didn’t want to remember it. I’m not sure. Goodness knows that as I read the entries I remembered each event, and I remembered and experienced the hurt with the 12 year old me. I wish I could give 13 year old me a hug and tell her that a boyfriend isn’t going to make her happy with herself. I’ve spoken at length before about what I’d say to 14 year old me.

The last diary I found was one I kept in college. In one of the entries, dated right before I graduated, I wrote:

As my graduation day rapidly approaches, I get ready to finish another chapter in my life. I’m sure I whined extensively in this diary, as I’m sure I did when I was younger. But, you know, I’ve realized something. In the future, everything I’ve considered to be serious or situations I’ve deemed make-or-break won’t even be important when I reread this.

Well, I have to disagree with myself. All the issues I’ve had, all the situations I’ve gone through have all been important. I realize how my past has shaped me. I realize how important every tear I shed during the writing was–it was my outlet; my coping mechanism. And every time I take the time to read through my old entries, I see just how far I’ve come in terms of mental strength. Because now, I finally understand that I AM normal. Everyone has different versions of normal, and this normal? My looks, my personality, all of it–is MY normal. And I’ve learned to own it.

So, I put the diaries in a Rubbermaid container and slid it under my bed. Sometimes the past is hard to remember, but even when it’s rough, it is not always something one should forget.

So, I’ve gotten some awesome emails pertaining to clothes. If you’re in need of some new threads, head over to B and Lu. They have stuff for up to 75% off. Same goes for SWAK Designs, who also has a 75% off summer clearance sale. I’ve been keeping my eye on this dress for months, waiting for it to go on sale, and of course I have no money this weekend because I’m being responsible and paying bills instead. Grr. Oh, and you’ll also get free shipping with code FREESHIP08 (it’s good until September 22, 2008).

Also, starting today and ending on the 21st, if you bring a friend into Old Navy and use the code word BFF, you get 20% off of your purchase. Shopping online? Don’t worry, the same code applies, and you get free shipping.

Now that the shopping tidbits are out of the way, I’d like to announce that I’ve started another blog. As the economy continues to swirl about the drain and the presidential campaigns heat up, I’d be ranting more about the foolishness in D.C. than about fat and fashion, so I started another site just for ranting about the…eh…tangled web that is US politics. Also: there’s bits of feminism tossed in there too, and as this blog does, we (I’ve got some co-bloggers) will be relating all of that to being Black in America. Head over to The Personal Is Political now to see the inaugural posting, and please feel free to offer up feedback, linkies, or general ideas to help make it better!

So, yesterday, after a pleasant conversation with BuddingStarlet, I decided I should get up and clean the house. I do so every week, but I always have to find the motivation.

I loathe cleaning. I do. With the fire of a thousand suns.

Anyhow, in between reading the Fatosphere and catching some Dr. Phil, I got to work scrubbing the bathroom. I wouldn’t dislike this if I didn’t have to share the bathroom with a 17 year old. And even still, it wouldn’t be so bad except he’s a boy, and I have to clean the toilet.

Can someone explain to me how men manage to miss? WTF, yo.

Well, once I get the Clorox in the toilet and the Comet in the tub, I’m already sick of the whole idea and want to go find something else to do. Instead of that, I grab a mix CD and a tiny radio/cd player and put it on. I hadn’t listened to that CD in forever, so I had no clue what was on there.

First Track: Crazy in Love. Hm. Ok, then. I proceed to scrub the sink. Amerie’s “One Thing” comes on, and I scrub the dreaded toilet. By the time I get to “Bootylicious”, I’m shimmying all around the room with the Swiffer as if I can actually dance, and once I’m done, I’m kinda sad about it.

So, I move little cd player to the kitchen, and do dishes and sweep and mop. All the while, I’m bringing sexy back, learning about Christina’s candyman, and trying to help Beyonce understand her Deja Vu.

Yeah, I still loathe cleaning, but music helps make it better for me. How about y’all? What motivates y’all do to something you can’t stand? Or, if you hate cleaning too, what music makes it go by faster?

I’ve been putting this off for a few days now. It is time for a little venting about the election. Because this is not a political blog I will make this brief.

Sarah Palin: On the one hand I am happy that there is a vagina…I mean a woman, somewhere on someone’s ticket. And even though I don’t agree with some…most…all of her political opinions I also feel like it is a good thing that a female politician has well defined and strong positions. Unfortunately I have not had a chance to hear her speak about said strong opinions because she has been too busy giving us the run down of her not so small family, the six degrees of her military acquaintances, and the personal chef that was part of her gubernatorial package. And that is all I have to say about that. Actually there is a lot more but that is all I am going to say here.

Secondly, I know that my handle includes the word intellectual, but I can’t keep that identity up always so after watching both conventions, here is a set of words and phrases that I never want to hear again:

1. Glass ceiling (since no one has used it correctly yet and both parties are lacking some serious historical facts here)

2. Drill baby drill (seriously?)

3. Fight for our country. (Its just overused and archaic, its time for something else)

And lastly, did anyone see Palin’s young daughter lick her hand and fix the baby’s hair? Wow. Both conventions were quite the spectacles. And in case anyone was unsure, for the sake of my uterus, I’ll be voting for Obama. End political rant. Have a great week everyone!

So, as I told y’all on Friday, I went shopping for my bridesmaid dress this weekend. I’d heard some horror stories about shopping for formal wear, especially at David’s Bridal, so when I walked in the store, I was more than a little apprehensive. Would the salespeople be nasty towards me? Would they ignore me and leave me to my own devices? Would they even have my size?

Well, I can say I lucked out. The David’s I went to had extraordinary service. Every saleswoman that saw me was very pleasant and did her absolute best to find the pieces I asked for. When they didn’t have the size I requested, the young woman (we’ll call her J.) brought me the next size up and the next size down. This way, I’d have an idea on the general look, and if neither size she brought fit, I’d know I was right in the middle. The experience was lovely!

So, I’m sure y’all are wondering: where’s the adventure? Well, the adventure came in with the actual trying of things on. You see, our well-organized bride has known for some time what dresses we wanted. (We’re doing seperates.) So when I get to the store, I just show J. my notebook with the style numbers, and she pulls different things, and I go in the dressing room. My mom was there for the zipping in. Well, I get the original ensemble on and…why the hell is this top digging into my left biscuit roll (the affectionate name for “love handle” that BuddingStarlet came up with), why the hell does my back hurt, and why in the hell do I feel a breeze on my belly?! Aha. My belly is out. Well, then. That’ll probably do it. My mom looks, and says she likes the overall look, but since I’m uncomfortable, she’ll have J. pull another size.

When J. brings the next size up, it now looks like I’m a six year old playing dress up in her mommy’s closet. Where my boobs should go is…well, kinda empty and sad. No big deal, I’ll just alter that part. But the rest of the strapless top is still digging in areas it ought not dig, and I still feel a breeze on my belly. Now I’m starting to get pissed, because THIS is the outfit I wanted and the damned thing doesn’t fit properly.

My mom, ever the trooper, does her best to make it work on me. Slowly, that diet-mind tries to rear her ugly head. I hear the whisper: “You know, it wouldn’t take much to lose that biscuit roll right there.” And this time, I was ready to shut my diet-mind up. So, I said: “Mom, how about we ask J. to pull another top. This one isn’t going to work, and I’m not about to force it to.” She does, and J. comes back with several other styles for me to choose from. After a quick call to the bride to make sure the change is cool with her, and making sure she’s ok with the top (which makes me look very boobalicious; but we’ll be able to rein ’em in), I had my dress (and they had the right size avaliable!) and the sash all ordered.

So I’m sure y’all want pictures, right? Well, you’ll just have to settle for the avatar. I would have let y’all see me in the dress, but they didn’t have the colors I needed in stock, so I looked like I’d been attacked by the Technicolor Monster. First up: the original gown I planned on wearing:

Cute, but not comfy.

And here is the new gown. All I changed was the top:

Cute, comfortable, and flattering!

I wish y’all could see the back of this top. It’s a halter, and there are straps that come down the back and connect to the rest of the top. There’s ruching in the front, and it’s cut in a sweetheart neckline. Yes, it’s a poor description. I’m sorry. I wish they would give me another view of the top online so I could show y’all. But anyhow, that was my grand adventure this weekend. Now, I have to find shoes. Any of you have a clue what color shoe I should wear with this gown (the bride’s requirement: it must match)? Suggestions appreciated!